Daily for Jan 17th

Prompt: What are your writing habits? Do you always write in the mornings? Or do you stay up late, listening to music as your write? Write about yourself as a writer, but do so from the third person omniscient. For example, “Anne stared at her computer screen, after finally sitting down to write.” You can use your Scratch nickname or make up one for yourself. 200 words for 400 points share my work.

@FirestarForReal stared at her computer screen in the middle of school. Her teacher was babbling on about something boring (school hard) but she wasn't listening, just typing away at her computer. She opened the bookmarked option on her computer “Journalist”, which brought her to her thread. On the top were all the linked cabins and things she needed, so she selected the Main Cabin link.

Finding the description bar on the left, she scrolled to the daily and read it. Write about myself? @FirestarForReal thought. I can do that. She scrolled to the bottom of the page by dragging the scroll bar on the right-hand side down. Then she wrote at the top, “Daily for Jan 17th”, entered down two lines, then wrote “Prompt:” and pasted in the prompt.

Taking a deep breath, she began to write. Words flowed out of her mind into her fingertips and ultimately into the computer. The letters formed perfect unions and flourished into a beautiful story. @FirestarForReal still had no idea what her teacher was saying, all her focus was on the typing. Finally, she checked her word count and with a sigh, finished. Except she still needed 10 more words. She slammed on her keyboard.

(202 words)

Random Writing


So I did the Journalist bit for Jan 16 daily, and now I'm obsessed with Ukraine-Russia war news written in a Journalist format. Here's more just because.

@FirestarForReal: Hi, welcome back to JWC News on Channel 8. Thanks for tuning in. Today we're covering the topic of Ukraine advisor Oleksiy Arestovych's resignation.

Marissa: Yeah, pretty sure that's pronounced Oleh-skee Uh-rest-oh-vich.

F: Anyway, when a Russian missile hit Ukraine's apartment building-

M: -see our previous news story-

F:-Arestovych made the mistake of officially announcing that the missile had only fallen on the building after it was shot down by Ukrainian air defenses. Thus it looked like he was blaming his own country for the causalities.

M: Yeah, @FirestarForReal, there was a lot of outcry because of that, it's reportedly “extremely inaccurate.” One Twitter user posted, “Arestovich in his daily update said Ukrainian Air Defence shot down the Russian missile which fell on the Dnipro building, destroying it. This is a ridiculous take. A missile falling down doesn't destroy a 10-floor apartment complex.” Others describe what he said as “strengthening the position of Russian propagandists”.

F: Our viewers can read more about it here- https://www.cnn.com/europe/live-news/russia-ukraine-war-news-1-17-23/index.html https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-64304310 https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/ukraine-presidential-adviser-offers-resignation-over-dnipro-missile-remarks-2023-01-17/ https://www.i24news.tv/en/news/ukraine-conflict/1673949178-zelensky-s-advisor-resigns-after-saying-ukraine-downed-russian-rocket-in-dnipro

M: Sources, sources. Anyway, he decided to resign because of this error and posted his resignation letter on Facebook.

F: Arestovych himself said, “I sincerely apologize to the victims and their relatives, the residents of the Dnipro, and everyone who was deeply wounded by my premature error version of the reason the Russian missile hit a residential building.”

M: President of Ukraine Volodymyr Zelensky hasn't commented on this yet, but he did call the Dnipro attack a “war crime” committed by Russia.

F: Further facts are that Arestovych had posted regular YouTube updates about the war, watched by millions. To be exact, he has 1.6 million subscribers, and his videos often have more than 200,000 views.

M: This war is saddening. Tune in next time for more updates, viewers! Remember, it's @FirestarForReal and Marissa on JWC News, Channel 8!

(355 words)

Daily for Jan 19

Prompt: What is one of your character's fears? Journal about how this fear impacts your character and maybe the story too. 200 words for 300 points!

My character Loreta Maria Campbell, also known as Lorrie, is scared of getting low grades. She studies 2 or more hours a day and so expects nothing less than 100s (or at the very least, 95s). If she doesn't receive them she has temper tantrums. Lorrie's friend Echo Wynonna (they/them pronouns for them please) once got an 83 and it was like Lorrie didn't know her for a month.

It pulled their entire average from 91 to 85, and Lorrie still berates them for it sometimes. She is currently attending college (yes, at 18, but it's only because she's completing medical school and law school at the same time). And even though its months of backbreaking work, she absolutely must persevere.

Another one of Lorrie's fears is trypanophobia- a fear of needles. She knows deep down it's irrational, but still, whenever she sees a sharp pointy stick she has to get away. Facing down the COVID vaccine (two shots!) and the booster (a third?!) was so tough for her she almost quit, but being so smart she had researched all about the vaccine and decided it was for the better of the population that she had it.

These fears- low grades and needles- impact the story. Of course if she has any low grades, her entire investigation into some sort of mystery will be derailed in her panic. Lorrie also will choose grades above just about anything (except living things- she is a strictly ethical person).

Lorrie is also vegetarian (most of the time at least) and tries not to buy from companies that promote animal cruelty. She eats eggs and drinks milk and wears wool clothing because that is not harmful to the animals it comes from (if bought from good companies).

(294 words)

Word War VS @smartypantschlo VICTORY

Hello, my name is Adriana Vane, and if you're reading this you're in danger. Seriously. (No not seriously it's part of the story). Let me explain. The story started when I woke up one day, surrounded by glowing light…

Give me the cube, rumbles the dark creature which is the Great Evil.

No! cries the Goddess. She was once a simple girl on Earth in the times of Mesopotamia, but now she is not so innocent. After her backstory which we will not be exploring today, she became the Goddess of the Universe and acquired the power of the Cube. Superpowers and powers. Well, the Cube could be called the reason SUPERpowers existed, because it definitely was one.

The Great Evil summoned two obsidian black knives for killing a divinity. I will not ask again.

The Goddess shoots the cube into the Earth just as the knives enter her holy cosmos body. A human will protect it now, she rattles with her dying breath, and dies.

(167 words)

Writing Competition Entry: Girl On Fire

“When the Factory was first built, an architect made a slight mistake- he added two doors to one of the rooms in the Cooking wing. The project had already started, so he just mentioned it to the construction manager, who boarded it up with some cheap boards and ignored it.” Anise, my friend, whispers to me.
I giggle. “Let me guess, you found it somehow and we’re going to sneak out from it.”
This excursion is strictly forbidden (Class F’s aren’t allowed outside unless hired, in which case they would be loaded into a truck, still not seeing the outside). However, Anise is a master of all things impossible.
Her gray eyes flashed, annoyed. “You still think this is a silly outing? Are you Clover?”
Clover is another girl in my Group- Cooking Group 088. Made up of fourteen- fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds, we train to eventually cook for higher classes. There are fifty of us. But Clover is… the best description for her would be this archaic term (found by Anise, of course) “dumb blonde”.
She giggles too much and can’t tell her left hand from right, and the Inspector suspects she’s had some sort of brain injury. I think so too. Anise has always tried to find her secret, why or how she’s like this, but Clover just evades any attempts at finding out her true identity.
Anyway.
Anise kicks down an old, rotting door- and I marvel at the lack of security cameras that usually monitor us. The only way we got out tonight was because Anise wired two loops into the system at specific times, at which we could exit and enter.
“Free!” I shriek happily, twirling in the night sky. We’d escaped the Factory! We could run away, pretend to be Class D’s, and maybe even travel to another City.
A rough voice barks something, so Anise and I shrink back against the wall. Then when it’s not directed at us, Anise boldly runs to the corner of the building and sticks her head around it. She looks back at me, disgust clear in her posture. “Come,” she mouths.
I go.
A Farming Group is being loaded into a truck. “You’ll be working for the President- a Class A.” A security guard says. “And we were supposed to leave seven minutes ago, so hurry.” She prods a frightened boy with her gun.
Ugh. City Guards.
“Social hierarchy allows humans to be treated like this- as slaves!” Anise snarls under her breath, watching the Guards slam down the truck’s back cover, leaving fifty young boys and girls in the dark, packed, afraid.
“That’s Farming Group 091!” I’d recognized one of them. “Oh no, Kale and Okra…” Ten-, eleven-, and twelve-year-olds. “Why didn’t the President pick another Farming group? Isn’t there…Farming Group 090? Thirty-four to thirty-six-year-olds, right?”
“The President doesn’t trust anyone older than them.” Anise sighs.
She turns to me. “This is why we need to leave this City. Leave all the Classes behind. We can’t remain Class F’s.”
I check the schedule imprinted on the sleeve of my serving dress. “We’re scheduled for baking in an hour, when are we supposed to return?”
“Two hours,” Anise replies.
“Aww, but I like baking!”
“You see?” she becomes angry again. “This propaganda fed into you! If we’d had our way, we wouldn’t depend on schedules! You could bake WHENEVER you wanted to! Not bake whenever! Go out and CHOOSE the ingredients you bake with! You could even do some activities NOT related to making food!”
“Anise, you’re crazy.”
“No, I just seem that way to you because they made you think that,” she sighs, defeated, all the fight leaving her again. “Want to explore the city?”
So we do, but I still think she’s crazy. I had literally just said I liked baking, not sung the praises of the horrid Inspector or the President or anything. I didn’t even LIKE the President, wasn’t that alone enough to convince Anise of my “rebelliousness”?
Old terms from a forgotten time seem to convey my confusion the best.
When we return, I tell Sage, our baker friend, about it. He’s chill. He shrugs.
But when we go out again, my initial confusion of how mad she was fades. I saw poor Class D’s, I expected them to be sad or overwhelmed with choices. But I saw happiness. A family could only afford one meal a day for their three youngest children, yet they were all content with sharing and giving. The mother worked tirelessly, but she always had more love to give.
Visit after visit, journey after journey, the truth set into me. Anise had always been right. There was a life that the City had robbed me of somewhere outside the walls of the Factory. How could I have missed that?
My yearning for a real life grew until I couldn’t stand it. Three months after our fateful venture into the real world, I clutched Anise’s sleeve. “I can’t stand it anymore!” I whispered to her in the dead of night, when the cameras couldn’t see my tears. “We need to…fake papers or something. I can’t live like this anymore.”
Those images kept flashing in my head: the woman, so poor but so happy. Twirling her infant in her arms. Me. The Inspector had told us again and again how lucky we were to live these lives, but all I could think about was how I would trade it all in a heartbeat for hers.
“Oh, Rose,” Anise smiled at me through tears. “You have seen the truth.” She never called me Rosemary, insisting she wouldn’t use a brand the City had forged in my skin.
That night I began calling her Nise.

“Hey, Rosemary,” calls Clover’s soft voice through the dormitory. I sigh, checking the digital clock embedded in the wall beside my head. 2:34 am.
“It’s two in the morning,” I tell her. “This can wait until tomorrow.” What is it? One of her stupid little rhymes? I remember the last one- “I would love to pick a daisy / My friend Rosemary.” It made no sense.
Clover’s eyes gleamed in the light of the moon. Suddenly, without noise, she was next to me. I stifled a scream. “Clover!”
“That’s not my name. My name is Alayla, a war goddess. And war I shall wage,” whispers the girl beside me that cannot be Clover.
“Clover…” I say again. This is not Clover. Clover sings silly rhymes, forgets her left shoe from right, and is not sure what red and yellow make. Clover does not move quickly, silently to my bed in the middle of the night. Is this an impostor sent to test me?
“You must listen and pass on the story. I had wished to tell Anise, but she isn’t here and I need to act soon,” says Not-Clover urgently. Alayla. “Have you ever wondered where Farming Group 089 has gone? Ten years ago, they poisoned every carrot in the spring batch. Two Class B’s died.”
I suck in a breath, but she continues.
“I was six, turning seven that very day,” Alayla-Not-Clover tells me. Gone is the girl that we all suspected had a brain injury. “I had wandered off, trying to find a hiding spot for the casual game of Hide-And-Seek.”
“I remember. We couldn’t find you for ages, finally, we found you’d locked yourself in an abandoned closet,” I breathe. Curious it was also the day she began acting funny.
“That was a facade. All of it was. I wandered into Farming Group 089’s execution waiting room. One of them held my hand as his group members walked into the gas chamber, one by one. He told me, ‘The classes are corrupt. The President is corrupt. They all are. Poison them. Kill them. Kill them all, one by one until they fall.’” Her eyes were glassy, reliving the memory that had haunted her for ten long years. “I escaped, but his words showed me the truth. I went to their old area, their farmland…and I ripped it all apart. My rage gave me incredible strength. I uprooted a carrot with a single tug, peeled back twelve meters of farmland in a minute. I was a whirlwind, unstoppable in hate and anger. They thought the Farming Group had done it themselves, to rid the evidence before they died. They were wrong. It was all me. And today, I can stand it no longer.”
“Why today?” I ask, because it is the only thing I can think of.
“Because today, you saw the light from Ani- Nise. Now you can carry her fire and mine, and yours, and the fire of Farming Group 089.”
“Wait, wait, what’s happening?” I have been waking up slowly ever since she first talked to me. Now I snap alert. “Clover. Cl- Alayla. What are you-”
“Goodbye,” she kisses my cheek gently, then she is gone, pushing open the dorm door (setting off various alarms, waking the other girls in pandemonium).
“Nise!” I shriek as loud as possible. She runs to me from her bunk as the other girls scream and cry and try to bury themselves in their blankets. As I run to where Alayla had gone, I fill her in.
“Faster!” she commands, and her long legs pump stride after stride under, at last, we go to the same corner we saw Farming Group 090, those ten-year-olds, get shipped away. Where Alayla is going? Where- I realize with a jolt- where Farming Group 089 died.
Past and present, perhaps even future tie themselves together at that corner.
We reach it and peer around. Alayla seems to be lit by the moon’s holy fire as she punches or kicks down Guard after Guard after Guard. She hijacks their guns, opens fire on the rest. They have put down rebellions, but none as intense as this raging inferno the ditzy girl Clover has become. Dozens lie dead at her feet, with more pouring in every second, but Clov- Alayla just continues her burning.
She takes an explosive grenade and a fire one, ties them together, then pulls off both pins with her teeth and throws the entire package at the door. A moment, then an explosion. Guards splatter the brick wall of the courtyard. I can smell Death in the air, almost hearing him licking his lips as he takes the souls of the dead Alayla has left in her wake.
Alone for the moment, she throws another grenade at the gates. The flimsy but electric wire blows open completely. She climbs through it without touching it carefully, then she is off and running to freedom.
To the other side.
Nise knows what’s going to happen because she clenches my hand tight and looks down, at her Factory-issued shoes. She shakes her head. A single Guard, bleeding from many wounds, has painfully reached his gun.
He aims.
I open my mouth to cry out to Alayla, but Nise claps a hand over my mouth. “It’s us dead or her,” hisses the girl with broken light behind her eyes. I suddenly realize her eyes weren’t like that a year ago. She’s seen things…
Alayla turns a millisecond too late. The bullet catches her behind her heart and rips through her body. She twists, and for a second I think she’s somehow dodged…then she falls. The fire that had become her withers and dies.
Her body hits the ground with a small thud.
Her last words echo in my ears. “Goodbye.”
That’s when I see in the reflection of Anise’s eyes: my own. And all the beautiful, full lights behind them fully shatter in this moment.

(1943 words)

Daily for Jan 20th

Prompt: You can submit a character bio here for 200 points! Your character bio should be something like this: Name// Age// Gender // Personality// Looks (link: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/790856933)

Loreta Maria Cabell 18 Female She's very, very bright, scores high on IQ tests, and has lots of friends. She's not artistic or athletic, at all, something she's ashamed of. African American, frizzy black hair, brown eyes

Word War VS @aloe-there

Once upon a time lived a girl with waves of brown hair. She always had so much that every time she tried to brush it, new knots would slowly form as she did it. And no, she was not Rapunzel. She was getting really tired of people asking her that. Her waves of long hair attracted all sorts of attention: good and bad.

On the good side, she could use it to fight, swing around like Spider-man, and more. The government of her country (The United States) even hired her to do some spy work, but she only accepted the missions for good. For example, once a band of thieves and pirates had taken a ship hostage (this is not based off any Avengers movie ever).

She stormed the ship, killed the pirates, and infiltrated their secret group, eventually taking down so many of them that they started trying to kill her on sight. Luckily, she had so much hair it could stop bullets. Even when a grenade was thrown at her, she expertly weaved her hair in a loop during the 0.3 seconds she had as warning and sheltered herself safely inside a cocoon.

Oh sure, her outer hair was scorched, but it was really all about the aesthetic, you know?

(212 words)

Daily for Jan 21

Prompt: Once you've submitted a bio, you can start attacking! Find someone else's form and choose a character. Once you've done that, write a short piece of writing for them, including or about their character(s). To give them their writing, just reply to the comment holding their form. Your reply should include a link to the writing.

Bio I Picked: Rowan Swindler / 17 / Gender Apathetic Flux, Masc Lean (AFAB) / deceptive, manipulative, witty, smooth, outgoing, ambiverted. basically a classic thief, but more caring and outgoing. / a tall, slightly tan and muscular guy with long, black hair he keep in a man bun. he has hazel eyes, though his left one is half-blue. his teeth are sharper than usual. he usually wears black pants, a shirt of a muted color, and a black jacket with converses. /

Rowan Swindler walked down his high school halls, hall pass in his pocket jingling cheerily. He was not cheery. In fact, he could not wait to escape this terrible high school. They called it “graduating”, but escaping was pretty much the same, right? He took his time drinking water and returning to his class, where Mr. Elsher peered down his glasses at him. “If it isn't Rowan?” asked the teacher.

Rowan smiled charmingly. “Hello, teacher. Beautiful tie you've got on today.”

“Why thank you, my dear girl,” Mr. Elsher preened.

“I am male.” Rowan gently reminded him. Really, if he pressed on with this behavior he would have to be disposed of. Rowan examined his black pants, jacket, and shirt of muted color for any inconspicuous weapons. He sadly found none.

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Elsher muttered, now obsessed with his own tie. “Rowan the boy, Rowan the boy.”

Raven, the meanest girl in the class, snickered. “Yeah, Rowan the boy!” She was always trying to put down others because it made her feel good. Not to be a stereotypical high school bully, but she seriously was. Her entire social media presence was just comprised of slur campaigns.

Rowan looked at her cooly with hazel eyes (actually, the left one was half-blue). “You've got nerve to say that to my face, Raven.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. You're just a violent yet outgoing thief.”

“Then what's this?” Rowan lifted his phone (not supposed to have it) and displayed a picture of her smoking a cigarette behind the school. The effect was immediate. Raven turned red.

“A fake.” she stammered.

Rowan used two fingers to zoom in on her face. “Uh-huh. You're just a cigarette addict. Did you not take third grade health?”

Now the class laughed.


(295 words)

Daily for Jan 23rd

Prompt: Music is a big factor in most of our lives. Today, choose your favorite song and write a 300-word story based on it! You’ll earn 400 points for this daily.

Song Chosen: Wannabe by ITZY

“Imagine wearing thrift shop clothes, couldn't be me,” tittered the mean girls at Lily's school. Okay, so they weren't really that mean. They only whispered behind people's backs, didn't spread rumors, and weren't blonde pink-barbies. But still.
Mean. Is. Mean.
Lily spun around and sang Wannabe by ITZY, note-perfect. The English version, of course. “You're nagging non-stop,” she began. A wave of embarrassment flushed over her, but she continued. “But I’m my own boss/”
“Lol, what” a mean girl laughed.
“OMG, it's Wannabe!” another one gasped. “Like, the song! OMG, she wants to be us! LOL!”
“Gotta let me work it out for myself- Don't need your guidance. I do what I wanna!” shouted Lily defiantly. “Just leave me to own my own mistakes and let me breathe, I need a little freedom to make big girl decisions.”
“Girl, you not a big girl,” one of the mean girls snickered.
“I'm so bad, bad, I’ma get all I can get, ‘Cause good girls always finish last, I’m done with trying to please somebody else, I'm just on my way, Don't need you in my space, Sorry if I let it slip but…” Lily grinned.
“I don't care what you say.” she said in their faces. She was done singing the song to them. She turned around because this song was all for her. For her and nobody else.
“Won't pretend to be someone I'm not, Yeah, I’ll be staying true to myself. I wanna be me, me, me.”
Suddenly, her best friend Solace jumped in. They sang, “I won’t change, I'm loving what I got. Cause I know I'm perfect just the way I am. I wanna be me, me, me.”
They both shrieked together, “I don't wanna be somebody. Just wanna be me, be me. I wanna be me, me, me.” They sang this twice.
“Okay,” the mean girl jumped in and stole Ryujin's rap. “Errbody, errbody, errbody teaching me.”
(All eyes on me) whispered the other mean girls.
“Gotta do this and that, always interfering!” the mean girl yelled at LIly.
(Don’t touch me) her private chorus echoed.
“Ah yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” crooned the mean girl, showing an impressive vocal range. “Got flaws, so take it or leave it. I'ma do my thing, just do your thing- ‘Cause I’m the one and only.”
“Just wanna be me, me, me,” said them all together.

(397 words)

Daily for Jan 29

Prompt: Take a story you've already written and write some of it from the point of view of a different character. 300 words for 500 share worked points.

I'll be re-writing a very old superhero story of mine: The Adventures Of SuperCat, from the villain the Elementalist's point of view.

If Diana Daggett had one goal in life, it was to overtake Goldensea (the city she lived in, with over one million citizens). The mayor was corrupt, the gangs and lower city inhabitants were in shambles and paid off the police every month, and rent was skyrocketing. Diana had run for mayor multiple times, only to have her funds sabotaged by the corrupt mayor (he was just in the job for the $80,000 a year).
No, the only way to ensure peace in this city was to set down laws and change the courts. She had to do this, for the poor families of Goldensea. There was only one problem in the way: SuperCat, an idiotic 6th grader named Katrina,(literally 11!) thought she was evil and was trying to kill her. It wasn't made better by the fact that the last SuperCat, a gymnastics teacher named Rose who gifted her natural protection to Katrina.
Even when Diana had managed to take out Rose, now there was Katrina in a stupid CatSuit sabotaging all her plans. Her plan to limit police funds? Katrina had assumed it was for forcing the police to interfere less in her nEfArIoUs PlAnS. In reality, it was limiting the equipment and reach of the police to stop police brutality.
So on the morning of January 29th, 2023, Diana had woken up, put on her identity-disguising Elementalist suit, and prepared to kill Katrina. She didn't care that it was murder of a child, Katrina had done enough. Sacrificing one life for all the inhabitants (one million) of Goldensea was just something that had to be done.
After finishing her morning business plans rapidly, Diana opened a window on the 15th floor of her office and jumped out. Don't worry, it wasn't to end her own life. Halfway down, the winds swirled around her and shot her skyward. Expertly manipulating AIR, one-fourth of the elements under her power, the Elementalist went to find Katrina's school bus.
She didn't want to hurt anyone else, especially not a bus full of innocent kids, so she gently pulled the air out of the bus. Hopefully then she could extract SuperCat, maybe even have her stop peacefully…? A girl talking to her was the first to collapse. Katrina spoke to the bus, but then the rest of them stopped as well and collapsed.
The bus driver collapsed out of his chair, the bus still running. With a flick of her wrist, the Elementalist made the bus pull over. Katrina's coming in three….two…one… she thought annoyedly.
Right on time, SuperCat, dark CatSuit rippling with black universal energy (dark matter, it was called) shot out of the bus. The Elementalist tilted her head, shadowy locks rippling in the wind, contrasting her pale skin. “Hello, SuperCat,” she said regretfully. “I am here to kill you and take over your city.” The small catgirl unsheathed her claws and leapt thirty feet at her with a snarl.
The Elementalist laughed…then stopped when those claws sliced within an inch of her face. Bam! Red-hot pure FIRE energy grew in the socercess’ hand and aimed toward SuperCat.
Leaping in midair and twisting to avoid the lava blast, Katrina landed, sending small black sparks buzzing around.
“So you wanna play a game, kitty?” Diana snarled. Why did she have to make everything SO HARD?
“If I must.” Supercat replied coolly. She was literally eleven. Diana wished for her to shut up. She backed up, and ran, her legs cycling faster, faster, until she was a blur. The Elementalist charged too, her wind and fire powers propelling her ever further, until it seemed inevitable they would meet.
The two forces met.
SuperCat leaped high, aiming for the Elementalist’s head. But the Elementalist dodged and created a pool of lava in midair for SuperCat to land in. SuperCat dodged it and swiped her claws. She thrust out her hand and dark energy coiled around the Elementalist.
Diana howled with pain, lava growing out of her form and combating the black fire that was burning her. SuperCats were so overpowered! If she died now, Katrina would PAY. “Stop it!” she screamed, but Katrina either didn't hear or didn't care. Her lava was no match for the true primordial strength of the universe, and the Elementalist vanished with a poof, sucked into the unending void. Wind swirled around the vortex, followed by a splash of water and a flickering fire, and a chunk of earth from Green Park followed.
Then with an abrupt Voosh! everything that was near the portal vanished, and an energy wave swept through the radius.
Enclosed in the void, the Elementalist struggled.
Floating forever.

(774 words)

Daily for Jan 30th

Prompt: We’re nearing the end of camp and we’d like to know your honest thoughts and opinions. What did you like about camp? What could be improved? Feel free to be honest. There’s no word minimum but giving your feedback will earn your cabin a final 100 points. <3

Camp was great ! However, I feel that there could've been more dailies. For example, there were multiple days when the daily was just to take time off and rest. But I wanted to write more, since I had missed other dailies. Instead, a goal could be added to the monthly goal to simply take some time off to rest and ignore a daily or two. Also, I felt like the number of active people in a cabin could tip the scales- good writers or not, thirty words or thirty thousand- just having 15 active members rather than 3 could unfairly turn the tides. I suggest afk campers be removed after 5 or so days and be replaced with backup campers.

(120 words)

Daily for Jan 31

Prompt: For today's daily, if your cabin writes a certain amount of words today, you'll earn extra points!
1,000 words = 2,000 points!
3,000 words = 6,000 points!
5,000 words = 10,000 points!

JOURNALIST MUST WIN 10,000 EXTRA POINTS. Time to write *finger flex*. What did I just write…

After the famous TikTok trend:

The famous singer gripped her microphone. Her managers had set impossible expectations for them and since she had signed all the legal forms, their lawyers could make it legal. The managers didn’t even approve of their she/they pronouns, insisting she only use she/her.
Gazing out at the bright lights and the audience, she snuck a glance at the managers (counting her tips) and sang mournfully, “Please kill me, I’m serious / Please kill me, I’m not singing, I’m asking.” When the strictest manager, Chen, looked over, she quickly returned to the usual lyrics. “Locked in a cage with all the rats / I’ve slipped through the cracks / And now I’m stuck with the scraps and I can’t / Seem to find my way back.”
When Chen went back to analyzing the money, she pleaded to the crowd, “Get me out, get me out.”
Finally one girl raised her hand. “Jenny, are you okay?” The roar of the crowd stilled as the audience waited expectantly for Jenny’s reply.
Chen glared at her angrily. What did you do? He mouthed. Jenny glanced at him and shook her head like she didn’t do anything wrong. But what the audience saw was Jenny looking sideways and shaking her head frantically.
Chen made the “come here” gesture. Security guards marched in from the opposite side of the stage and began picking up Jenny, bringing her there. Someone began killing all the lights, shutting them off.
No music. No lights. But Jenny still had a microphone. She raised it to her lips and shouted out with pure talent, no AutoTune: Taeyeon’s (a kpop star) song Fine. It was 90% Korean, but two lines were English.
“It’s not fineenenenenennenenenenenen. It’s not fine.” The first ‘fine’ was actually like three measures long (hard to explain if you hadn’t heard the original song). “Friends, I need help!” Jenny shrieked into the microphone.
The red blinking dot of recordings suddenly appeared all over the stadium. Jenny punched the nearest guard, slipped free, and dashed in the middle of the stage, suddenly illuminated by many phone lights.
“My lawyers are controlling every aspect of my life too hard, please help-” she kicked a guard. “Please, please. Get me out of here! I’ve had to break up with my boyfriend, leave my family, put down my three cats-”
The audience clamored at the last one. They surged onto the stage as one and pulled her down, but Jenny didn’t care. “We’re leaving! Don’t support Seal Entertainment Co! They abuse their other artists as well!”

(481 words)

Personal Writing

There are many openings in chess / I am clumsy
These two thoughts race through my head in math class. The first is because I am on the insanely popular chess website chess.com playing against an opponent. The second is because my elbow has knocked my black dry erase marker off the desk.
On the floor.
Two boys simultaneously see it and swoop in for it. Maybe S believes it belongs to A and is trying to steal it, and maybe A believes it’s his identical black marker.
I must capture the opponent’s queen / I have no marker now
I stop in the game, wasting precious seconds to withdraw a pink dry erase marker, my backup, from my writing pouch. As the teacher calls out the next problem, I scribble some x’s and y’s.
The class is almost over, the kids talk and chat and pack up. I close my computer and speak to my friend F. She discusses chess and her 100 score compared to my 300 (now 324).
A’s open pouch is on the ground. As he goes to pick it up, dry erase markers and pencils spill everywhere on the floor. A thin red one rolls to my feet. I glance at him. He’s trying to recover the rest of the markers.
Using my foot, I kick it backwards, still focused on F. Their eyes go where your eyes go. My eyes stay on F and the chessboard I am drawing on the whiteboard for her to demonstrate the Queen’s Gambit.
Then I walk backward and pick up the marker. “Is this yours?” I ask F.
She shakes her head.
I look around for a few seconds, then tuck it in my pocket. “I guess it’s mine now.”
We return to the Queen and her captures.
Then, A’s friend X calls my name. “A wants his marker back,” X says with a smirk in his voice.
I turn-
My hand goes to my pocket-
and then I collect myself, placing a confused mask on my face. “Oh yeah, I found it on the ground. Is it yours?”
A nod.
I throw him the marker and turn back to the chessboard.
I don’t see him catch it.

(369 words)